


night practice

by otatop



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-16 20:56:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21042659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otatop/pseuds/otatop
Summary: A small peak into how Andrew and Neil have been getting ready for his return to the court with his new prosthetic foot.





	night practice

When the phone timer went off, they both abruptly stopped their lunges, pivoted, and sprinted back to the goal to pick their sticks up off the ground. 

Neil still wasn’t used to dealing with Andrew with a backliner stick but the novelty helped. Even after months of this, the years of knowing Andrew could not predict his playing style. Part of it was because Andrew was a reluctant Exy genius. The other part probably had to do with how well Andrew knew him in return. 

Either way, it was a challenge. Neil almost smiled through the grate of his helmet if he weren’t so busy trying to score. 

Andrew smacked their sticks together and stole the ball back, hurtling it down the empty court for Neil to chase after. Neil jogged for it, this half of the court lacking any lighting, ready to swallow up anything that went too far.

“You’re hesitating,” Andrew accused when Neil got close enough so that he didn’t need to raise his voice. 

“I’m not,” Neil said. He spun his racked and bounced the ball, ready.

“You are. The second you settle into a play, your instincts tell you to favor one side. Either learn to trust it or stay in the game.”

It was more frustrating that he was right than anything else. “I’m  _ always _ in the game.”

“Every reset, you start strong and slowly lose your concentration. Somebody is going to catch on and exploit it. You never have this problem when you practice with Kevin.”

“Kevin grinds my ass about angles and stats. That’s not how I play. That’s never been how I play.” Irritation was quickly becoming something else, something ugly. Neil kept it all pointed inward.

“Exactly,” Andrew said. Neil shot the ball at a fast, shitty angle that Andrew didn’t even flinch after- he had no patience for hissy fits. But Neil didn’t know what else to  _ do _ . Andrew had been the one to tell him, all those years ago, that it was stupid for him to try and adopt Kevin’s analytical playing style. 

“Go run a lap,” Andrew said and headed to their duffel bag by the court door. Neil ran but it did little to clear his mind. He did one lap and came to take the water bottle out of Andrew’s hand. With some effort, he joined Andrew on the ground. 

“I don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me,” he said plainly. Several minutes of silence passed before Andrew responded.

“Kevin keeps you playing consciously because he never shuts up. So you never lose yourself to the game. When you play consciously, you make the decision to trust your leg. As soon as you begin to play instinctively, your body makes the decision for you, and the decision is to hesitate. You do not have the muscle memory for it yet.”

Neil stretched his legs out and knocked his sneakers together. The sight did not match the sensation. “Don’t have the  _ muscle _ for the memory,” he grumbled, petulant and childlike. Andrew rolled his eyes, all show. Neil knocked his knee against Andrew’s and left it their as they finished their water.

“One more play.” 

“What’ll you give me?” Andrew asked as if the answer wasn’t  _ everything, always. _

“I’ll get coach to let me do a post-game interview like the good ole days.”

“Don’t promise something you can’t guarantee. He knows what kind of menace you are in front of cameras.”

“It’s my first game back, there’s no way he’s going to turn me down for this. I bet some of them will have  _ really  _ stupid questions." He was selling something that was already sold. Neil loved how much Andrew enjoyed him wreaking havoc on national television.

"Let's get this over with, then." Andrew stood and hauled Neil up by the hands. Going from sitting to standing was up there with Neil's least favorite things, always thinking for the briefest of moments that his foot had fallen asleep. He didn't stumble at it, anymore at least.

Neil initiated their last face-off and concentrated on the way Andrew leaned into his bulk more than his speed. He focused on his movements, on his breathing, on turning his stick just so, on spinning backwards and sharply to the left. It was a little risky but the payoff was a hard  _ smack _ of the ball against the goal. It didn't light up at this time of night. The sound was satisfying enough. Neil pumped his racket into the air and jumped once with a short cheer.

"And how did that little display feel?" Andrew asked, taking off his helmet and smoothing his hair back. His tone was mocking but his assessing eyes belied actual concern. Neil did them both a favor of twisting his hips and bending his knee a few times. He bounced on his toes and grinned viciously.

"Cassandra was right about this sleeve, it doesn't hurt at all. And the carbon fiber? I definitely wouldn't have attempted something like that before."

"Great. Exy's very own bionic man."

"It's literally  _ one  _ foot and a bit. That's hardly bionic."

"You're battery powered. It counts."

Neil took both sticks and helmets so that Andrew could pick up their bag and they could head to the locker room. He had the strangest desire to spend the night at the stadium, to keep the sounds and smells around him. Andrew might even say yes if he asked.

He didn't ask.

They went home to their loud cats and too many pillows. Andrew rubbed a sweet smelling lotion onto the end of Neil's leg as he laid back in bed and they talked. It was Neil's new favorite routine, a favor he never asked for and a moment he wasn't willing to give up.

"Sensation?" Andrew asked as he swiped his hand back and forth. 

"Normal. Redness?"

"Normal. We should check it during half time, depending on how much you play. Especially if you decide to pull risky shit like earlier."

"It was  _ experime _ ntal _ ,  _ not risky. You're just grumpy that I scored on you."

"You're a professional, you shouldn't need to be  _ experimental _ to score."

Neil poked Andrew with the toes of his right foot until he grabbed it and rubbed the excess lotion into his sole. 

"Professionals are  _ supposed _ to be experimental. It's called innovation. And I need it against one of the greatest players in the world. If I trusted Garrison to tend goal properly I’d say you should ask about being a backliner for a game."

Andrew made a noise of disgust and shoved Neil's legs aside so that they could get under the covers.

Tomorrow, Neil would return to the court for his first professional game since Lola's return. Analysts would call it amazing. The press would plant seeds of doubt. The crowd would roar and Neil would wave at a little girl screaming in the front row and jumping on her own prosthesis.

Tomorrow Neil would score the game winning goal. Tomorrow, he would chew out a press member and make Andrew’s ears turn pink and he would limp after his shower. 

Tonight, he pushed his back into Andrew until they were quotation marks at the end of a long day.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> pls picture Nicky in the background singing "get'cha head in the game"


End file.
